


Exhale

by maggiedragon, na_shao



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 21:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13843101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggiedragon/pseuds/maggiedragon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/na_shao/pseuds/na_shao
Summary: Something about the way his Auror had slumped against the wall, blood leaking from his mouth had reminded him of Sam Crispin hung on concertina wire, bleeding and twitching in no man’s land as the gray sky clotted in his blood and flowers burnt all around.[Or: Theseus doesn't carry all of his scars on his skin. But at least he's not carrying them alone.]





	Exhale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LotusRox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusRox/gifts).



It had been raining all day. A low grey fog hung over London like wet cotton; water poured down the sides of streets in rivulets and drummed on the window panes of flats, shops, and palaces alike.

Theseus Scamander was bored out of his sodding mind.

He could hear Perce and Credence talking softly in the other room, but it still took him a moment to convince himself to stir, to dislodge Ellie from where she had curled up tightly, a warm grey-furred lump against the small of his back. She burbled indignantly and hoped down from the bed with a thump, trotting out towards the living room.

“Fine,” he muttered wrily after her. “I see how it is.”

He sat up in the bed, pushing the grey-streaked copper of his hair as if the gesture would relieve the dull headache of Dreamless Sleep, of staying too long in bed and relying on the potion to keep the nightmares at bay. Coffee would chase the fog; his husbands would help with the boredom so he followed the sounds of their voices, the faint melody of a jazz record playing, the crackling of a perduring fire.

When he reached the living room, Ellie had taken up a position on the couch where she could beg Credence to scratch her ears. Graves was already in the kitchen and Theseus could smell the toasted-nut-and-caramel scent of grinding coffee and imagine the little heap of brown grit sticking to the bottom of his mug.

“I’m really that bloody predictable,” Theseus muttered, voice thick with potion-induced sleep.

“After an operation goes sour? Yes.”

“It didn’t _go sour_ ,” Theseus corrected, unable to keep the hint of petulance out of his voice even as he dropped himself onto the couch, maneuvering his long body between Credence, the Kneazle and the throw pillows so he could beg for scratches as shamelessly as Ellie.

Barely. If Cassidy had taken the blast of lightning two inches higher; if Grant hadn’t been there to restart his heart from the belly of death and apparate him out of the fray…. The smell of ozone, burnt skin and blood had been heavy and thick with rain from the low-flying clouds above. It had taken hours to leave his lungs.

“I don’t like any operation that lands _my Aurors--_ ”

“Merlin, can you _please_ not be my boss right now?” Theseus winced as soon as he heard his own voice send fragments of annoyed hurt flying throughout the room. “I’m sorry, Perce. That wasn’t fair.”

“It was a long night,” Credence offered softly, fingers carding through Theseus’ hair and down along his jaw before caressing the raised edge of the scar on his chest and throat.

Theseus just pushed his head deeper into Credence’s hand. It hadn’t been any longer than any other operation, any escort mission or sting. It hadn’t even been a prisoner transfer, the long trip out to Azkaban and the exposure to the Dementors that always left him cold and hollow afterwards with his palms peeling anxiety. But...something about the way Cassidy had slumped against the wall, blood leaking from his mouth had reminded him of Sam Crispin hung on concertina wire, bleeding and twitching in no man’s land as the gray sky clotted in his blood and flowers burnt all around. God. Not even the latest war and he could still hear the man screaming for his mother as he curdled within his own frost.

He was condemned to wake up and remember every single day; and that was his sentence, somehow, to live like this, haunted by brittle ghosts clothed in red-glazed skin.

“I saw Cassidy today at St. Mungo’s,” Graves said quietly, setting the cup of coffee down on the table near Theseus’ head. “He’s conscious and already asking the nurses which Quidditch team they root for.”

“He’s bloody predictable too then,” Theseus snorted, shifting enough to reach for the coffee with fingers still trembling ever so slightly with encased nightmares. The steam curled white over the edge of the mug; it was already enough to dull the muscle cramping that had crawled inside his arms and legs.

He had barely beaten the sunrise home, thin lines of amaranth pink streaking the deep blue sky by the time he crawled into bed next to Credence who, in return, had messily kissed the skin under his ear. He’d taken the next day off anyway-- there wasn’t any way he was going into the Ministry a scant two hours later-- but hadn’t expected to jerk awake from incoherent nightmares, blood and trench rot in his mouth, ozone and damp in his lungs, heart pounding like artillery so loudly it made him tremble and shameful tremors like hiccups in his bones wreck his every word. Even with both of his husbands wrapped tightly around him, wand-callused palms and sleep-sweet mouths against sweat-damp skin, it had taken another hour, a dosage of Dreamless Sleep, tight, bare _I love you’s_ and Ellie squirming her way between a pile of bodies to nest against the nape of his neck before he had finally, _finally_ slipped back asleep.

“You do have a type when it comes to the Aurors you want on your squad,” Graves commented, taking a space on the far end of the couch, fingers running over the length of Theseus’ calf in a gentle, comforting motion. It had the sense of an ache being filled. “It… leans towards the exuberant.”

“You can drill sense and caution into someone. You managed to with me, after all. But you can’t make someone love this job,” Theseus said and then groaned. “And I don’t want to talk about work-- it’s… Merlin, what time is it?”

“Just past six,” Credence supplied, Theseus’ head pillowed on his shoulder.

“It is past six. I don’t want to talk about work.”

“Bad habit,” Graves offered by way of an apology. “And you’re going stir-crazy, aren’t you?”

“I’m predictable _and_ obvious, I see.”

“We might know you a little, Thes,” Credence said and pressed a kiss under his ear; a habit, somehow, so very soothing and comforting. “We can go out if you want.”

It was a Tuesday evening though-- not even Soho managed live music or dancing that early in the work week. And going out for dinner didn’t make sense-- there was still a half-bunch of greens in the refrigerator that was going to be irredeemably wilted if they didn’t use it in the next few days.

“I promised to teach you to play pool the other day,” Graves finally said to Credence.

“I’d like that,” Credence answered, breathing out a long sigh and smiling up at his husbands. “Thes?”

The Brit offered a perfectly beatific smile. “Oh no, I won’t enjoy watching you play pool at all, baby.”

“Predictable,” Graves snorted and gave Theseus a small shove. “Now go get dressed.”

Theseus nearly choked on nothing but air when their bodies finally coalesced back into reality. Perce had picked the place, Side-Alonged both of them, so he hadn’t been expecting anything like the seedy Vauxhall pool halls he’d frequented in his youth but--

“The _Regis_? For fuck’s sake, Percival.”

The _Regis Commoditate_ was a members-only wizards’ club, founded with a royal warrant shortly after the imposition of the Statute of Secrecy, to allow for high-ranking members of Muggle Parliament to continue to meet with their mage counterparts discreetly, but its practical use--- and its policy of admitting Muggles-- had faded rapidly into the elite wizarding social club it was now.

It went without saying that the new Vice-Minister of Security, with his illustrious career and equally illustrious bloodline-- even if it _was_ an American one-- was a member. It would have been the type of place Graves liked anyway even if it wasn’t part of the good-old-boys hobnobbing the man’s job required, Theseus thought. The club was warmly furnished with a solid oak bar and brass finishings. A fire crackled in the immense hearth of the main room, red velvet armchairs ensconced the who’s-who of the wizarding world as they read newspapers or talked quietly over snifters of brandy and cigars.

All of whom were now looking up at the very loud obscenity breaking the silence.

 

“You are always the most charming, my darling,” Graves sighed. “Take one of the back rooms; I’ll order drinks and have the pool table set up.”

Credence tried to hide his laughter behind a hand, swallowing it back as his teeth bit into the soft, stretched pink skin of his lower lip. The sound of it took the sting out of even Theseus’ mild indignation, so he only huffed and did as Graves asked. They found a small private room in the back, mostly dominated by the pool table with a scattering of high top tables and chairs for players awaiting their turn. Wrought iron windows looked down on street, streaked with rain and clouded from the difference in temperatures.

It was helping, somehow, to have this constant motion, the casual break of water drops all over the expanse of glass; the slow agony of the day was leisurely simmering down in Theseus’ chest, if only for a few moments.

“How are you feeling?” Credence asked.

 _Baby, I’m fine, don't worry_ and _trapped in my head_ and-- “Glad to be out of the flat. Even if it is here.”

Theseus draped an arm around Credence's shoulder and kissed his temple. Neatly racked pool balls-- blue, green, orange, black-- shimmered into existence on the pool table. Credence laughed with delight as their drinks did likewise. Chilled rosé, Scotch on the rocks, a pint of mild expertly poured and only barely laced with foam.

“We're predictable?” Credence said with a soft grin as he reached for the drinks-- the beer for Theseus and wine for himself, leaving the Scotch for Graves; and on the way there, he kissed the back of Theseus’ neck, a thousand sensations racing through the older man’s spine at the kind, loving touch of someone who knew him inside and out.

Theseus snorted as he took the glass from Credence and toasted with him. The sight of the rosé made him smile. Domi--- the recon witch he’d known since the _first_ war had recommended a vineyard in the south of France. A place called Bandol and she’d promised him a bottle that tasted like citrus and flowers and Provencal summers. He’d taken her word and bought a case. The only reason it had lasted as long as it had was because Credence had hoarded them, opening each bottle sparingly.

The Regis brewed their own mild too, he’d been told, only faintly bittered with hops, a brown malt laced with nuts, cream, the hint of toffee. Theseus knew when he was being placated--- and knew when his brain was hellbent on making him miserable about something he would have called _thoughtful_ in any other day.

It made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

 _Churn,_ even.

Percival joined them in a few minutes’ time. He glanced at Theseus and the question was wordless--- _What do you need?_ \--- as he picked up his glass of Scotch and took a sip.

“You’ve always been better at pool than me,” Theseus answered as he gestured to the table. _Space._ “I’m just here to appreciate the view.”

Graves nodded soberly, accepting the answer and held his hand out to Credence. “C’mere. Let’s get you a stick.”

The tentative smile lighting up Credence’s face as he tested the length of the various pool cues nearly made being at the _sodding Regis Commoditate_ worth it. Percival adjusted Credence’s grip carefully, showing him how the length of it rested between his first two fingers and the older man’s face curved in the suggestion of pride and pleasure as Credence ended up with blue chalk all over his finger tips. Credence gave Theseus a small wave before he bent over the table, chewing at his lip as he concentrated.

For awhile, it was enough to be out of the house, to be watching his husbands happy and content with each other, willing to let him dispel the fog he’d woken up under on his own, tell them if he needed something. Rain sluiced down the window as he drank his beer. The _Regis_ , for all his whining, was warm, nearly welcoming. It was good to be inside, out of the damp.

Out of the mud.

Trench mud had been slime. More human fluid than anything else-- blood and shit and piss and vomit-- it had clung to your boots, your coat. There were stories of men who drowned in it, mud slowly creeping up their bodies, sucking them in until they asphyxiated in this infernal weave. Everyone deemed it necessary to get back to themselves— their own selves, their own skin. Safe. Safe as they could be, through—

The unravelling.

The shock.

Fuck. No. No. No. Not here, not in public.

Not in public— but the rain was falling and mixing with tears and with blood on his hands, his shaking hands, his shaking, shivering hands—

Leather and agarwood through the wet, thick scent of dying. Spice and warmth and fingers tilting his jaw up at the edge of dread.

It was the dark mesh of the trenches all over again.

_What are you afraid of? The thousand years of solitude spent with dead bodies leaking their fluids onto your skin?_

“Theseus. Breathe.”

He let Graves lead him. Everything felt so heavy and unfocused that he might throw up. He focused all his energy on not breaking now, on breathing and being _present, here and now, here and now._ There was a chair under him and his head ended up tucked under Credence’s chin, his lips against his chest— soft and quiet and soothing.

Drift. Uncertain— listening.

Holding his breath against dread.

_Exhale._

“Baby, don’t worry about me. Go play your game,” he muttered inanely, colour drained from his cheeks, and was promptly ignored by both of his husbands.

“I took my turn and I’m pretty sure Percival is about to run the table.”

“You make it sound like I’m cheating.”

“I’m pretty sure you _are_.”

His husbands’ bantering was a familiar, steadying sound--- two American voices, one younger and tenor, one older and baritone. Their accents were faintly different; Graves had always said it was the difference between upstate New York and the city.

_Exhale._

His pulse was slowing; he could feel his skin damp with sweat, the slight tremors running through the very bones of his fingers as his tired eyes scraped over the large wooden expanse of the floor.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.”

Graves’ finger went over his lips before he could even finish the sentence. “Because you hate the _Regis_ so much you’d do this deliberately,” he added with such dry skepticism that Theseus had to chuckle, the point made.

_You don’t have anything to apologize for._

He pressed a soft kiss against Graves’ fingers, and his lips met with the cold metal of his wedding ring.

“Posh bastard.” He swallowed against the hoarseness in his voice, took the glass of water that Credence had summoned before continuing. “Posh cheating bastard.”

“Shall I make it up to him, darling?” and the endearment in that warm American baritone never failed to make something go warm in Theseus’ chest. “To both of you?”

Theseus glanced up from Credence’s chest, a little startled, the ghost of a gasp on his lips. There had been just the faintest bit of heat to Graves’ voice, the offer implicit but present. He hadn’t expected it, not here, not in this place where people would bow their heads to him and call him _Vice-Minister_.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said, but his voice ticked up, questioning.

Graves flicked two fingers towards the door. It clicked shut with a clear copper ringing.

“Cheater,” Theseus said fondly again, even as he watched this beautiful man go to his knees here in the back room of the _Regis._

_Exhale._

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not, this started as fluff. 
> 
> Come say hi at https://maggieandthedragon.tumblr.com/ and http://angryzilla.tumblr.com/


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